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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28248846">The Girl In The Moon (Day 4: Celestial)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifyouwereamelody/pseuds/ifyouwereamelody'>ifyouwereamelody</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Worlds Through Which We Weave (Zutara Week 2020) [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: The Last Airbender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Katara and Zuko (Avatar) are Parents</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:40:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,342</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28248846</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifyouwereamelody/pseuds/ifyouwereamelody</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Her eyes are startlingly blue.</p><p>It’s always the first thing he notices about her, but today more so than ever. </p><p>Today, they’ve got him trapped. Completely trapped. Swept down-river, carried out on a riptide, and lost at fucking sea.</p><p>[Now re-posted after being taken down for a while.]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Katara &amp; Zuko (Avatar), Katara/Zuko (Avatar)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Worlds Through Which We Weave (Zutara Week 2020) [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1853797</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Girl In The Moon (Day 4: Celestial)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Whew, I definitely struggled with this one. It did not come smoothly, and there were multiple points where I felt like it was just going to end up a huge mess. But I think I've managed to shape it up into something relatively cohesive, if perhaps not as much so as the previous ones in this series. I guess that's what happens when you're pushing yourself to sit down and write no matter how easy it feels!</p><p>The song for this one is Half The World Away, a cover of the Oasis song by AURORA. Those of you from the UK might recognise it from the John Lewis advert about the man on the moon — it felt applicable here too.</p><p>TW: I feel like flat-out stating the TW on this might get in the way of the effect of it a little, so if you feel particularly concerned then scroll down to the end to check it out before reading. I can say that there is no gore/blood, no violence, no drug/alcohol use, no explicit sexual scenes, and no reference made to of any of the above. Usual amounts of swearing.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The moon is bright tonight. Not quite full, but bright, its light catching the edges of the trees and bleaching them silver in the evening’s chill. The leaves are rustling outside, but the breeze is a gentle one, one that slips through the open window and breathes fresh against Zuko’s face.</p><p>‘Zuko? You have a visitor.’</p><p>He turns in his chair to see a member of staff — Song, he thinks her name is, although he’s inclined to forget — standing in the doorway.</p><p>‘Okay, send them in. Thank you.’</p><p>Song — yes, that’s definitely her name — moves aside to make way for the figure behind her. His visitor steps into the room, and a broad smile stretches its way across his face before he has any say in the matter.</p><p>
  <em>Her eyes are startlingly blue.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s always the first thing he notices about her, but today more so than ever. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Today, they’ve got him trapped. Completely trapped. Swept down-river, carried out on a riptide, and lost at fucking sea.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘What are you looking at me like that for?’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>There’s a laugh in Katara’s voice, and he knows that he must be staring at her like an idiot, but... look at her. She’s caught the sun, a hint of burn following the neckline of her sweater across to where it hangs off her shoulder, and her hair is stiff and tangled with salt, and her eyes are—</em>
</p><p>
  <em>God, he’s sunk.</em>
</p><p>‘Hi, Zuko. Are you ready to head out for our walk?’</p><p>A walk? Had they planned to go for a walk? At this time?</p><p>He considers, peering back out at the trees and the moonlight, and—</p><p>Hell, it’s a fine night for it. Why shouldn’t they?</p><p>She smiles. He’s glad for that; glad that she’s smiling because of him.</p><p>The air is crisp and pine-scented when they step outside. It’s surprisingly cold for May, and as they walk he finds his eyes sliding sideways to find her, to make sure that she’s not shivering in the light jacket that she’s brought along.</p><p>
  <em>‘Hey, earth to Zuko. You okay?’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He blinks, coming back to the sea breeze, the cries of gulls, the grit of the sand that’s made its way into shoes still damp from putting them back on too soon after walking in the surf.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Yeah, I’m fine. More than fine.’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She grins at him, rolls her eyes, reaches up to link her hands at the back of his neck. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘What a sap.’</em>
</p><p><em>And her lips on his are easy and unassuming — domestic, even — but she tastes like ice cream and sea spray, and he’s not about to let her go after a couple of casual pecks. She lets out a squeak of surprise at being pulled back in, and then he feels her laugh against his face, her body arching into his, her lips turning pliant and eager as he eases them deeper into the kiss. A group of teenage boys is cheering them on from the promenade, but Katara’s hands are running through his hair, and </em>God<em> she’s breathing those little moans into his mouth, and he has precisely zero fucks to give for their audience.</em></p><p>
  <em>When they break apart, he’s really quite proud of the glaze that’s come down over her eyes.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Not that I’m complaining, but what did I do to deserve that?’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He drops another kiss on the corner of her mouth before ignoring the question.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(As far as he’s concerned, there’s no answer that’ll do her justice.)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘I’m going to take you home now.’ </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He wants to run his tongue along the line of her sunburn.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Yeah, home sounds like a good idea.’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Her hand toys with the hem of his shirt, the band of his jeans, for the whole drive back. It’s all he can do to steer straight.</em>
</p><p>‘It’s a nice night, isn’t it?’</p><p>Small talk. He’s never been great at small talk, really, but he gives it his best shot.</p><p>‘Yeah. Peaceful. Chilly.’</p><p>Okay, his best shot sucks. But, to be honest, he’s a little confused — he’s not really sure what she wants with him, why she’s here walking with him at whatever time it is at night. He feels like he’s waiting for her to say something that gives him a clue and makes it all make sense.</p><p>‘We could walk down to the lake. It’ll be nice in this light.’</p><p>That doesn’t help.</p><p>‘Okay, sounds good.’</p><p>It’s not as if he’s lying — it does sound good, a nice enough way to spend any evening. As soon as they reach the water’s edge, he stoops to the ground and comes back to standing with a piece of shale in his hand.</p><p>‘Skipping stones?’</p><p>He turns, and her smile is so warm that he can’t help but smile back.</p><p>‘Yeah, need the practice.’</p><p>
  <em>‘You never learned how to skip stones? Oh my God, you’re such a city boy. Come on, Caldera, I’ll teach you.’</em>
</p><p>He’s not sure how long they stay there, skimming stones across the surface of the water —</p><p>‘That’s five, beat that.’</p><p>‘<em>Seven</em>. Easy.’</p><p>— but it must be too long, because at some point he looks out across the water, out into the dark, and suddenly something turns over in his stomach.</p><p>‘Fuck.’</p><p>She startles, frowning at him.</p><p>‘What is it?’</p><p>There’s a clatter as he lets the stones in his arms fall to the ground. He turns away from her, away from the water, and starts to make his way back towards the house. The churning is getting stronger — there’s somewhere important he needs to be.</p><p>‘I need to go. I’m late.’</p><p>‘Late?’ She steps sideways, blocking his path. ‘Late for what?’</p><p>
  <em>None of your business.</em>
</p><p>‘I’ve got a meeting. My father’s trying to get Avatar Industries to sign on with us, and if I can’t lock them down then I’m screwed.’</p><p>‘Zuko, calm dow—’</p><p>She reaches for his arm, but he shakes her off with a snarl.</p><p>‘No, don’t touch me, what the hell are you doing? Get out of my way. I need to go.’</p><p><em>‘That job is taking over your life, Zuko. You’re working crazy hours, it’s all you talk about when you’re home... I’m not even convinced you actually </em>like<em> it, but it’s like you’re obsessed.’</em></p><p>
  <em>‘Of course I like it, why would I be doing it if I didn’t like it?’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Um, to please your dad? Because he’s never made you feel like you were good enough and now you think that you need to prove yourself? Because you think that walking away from a job that’s sucking the life out of you would somehow make you seem weak? I don’t know, Zuko, it’s a real tough one.’</em>
</p><p>She’s still trying to stop him. Why is she still trying to stop him? He can feel the frustration rising up, the heat of anger starting to bleed into him, and underneath it all is this strange, sharp pinch of anxiety that seems to have come out of nowhere.</p><p>She needs to back the fuck off.</p><p>‘Look, I don’t know what you’re playing at but I’m done messing around. Get the hell out of my way.’</p><p>His lips are curled in a sneer, but she doesn’t look daunted. She looks... sad? Resigned?</p><p>
  <em>‘I don’t like the person that it makes you.’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘So what, this is like an ultimatum?’</em>
</p><p><em>‘No! No, of course not, I just— I wish you understood how hard it is to watch you disappearing into this job. It’s changing you, and I— God, I just </em>miss<em> you. I miss you.’ </em></p><p>‘Zuko, you don’t work there anymore. You quit.’</p><p>The breaks slam on. His anger fizzles. But the frustration doesn’t go away, it just morphs, stretches out in a different direction. She’s not making any sense.</p><p>‘Quit?’</p><p>‘Yes, you quit. A long time ago.’</p><p>‘Why would I quit? That doesn’t— I don’t understand. Why would you say that?’</p><p>‘You stopped working for your father because it was getting in the way of the rest of your life. You started your own business.’</p><p>She’s talking as if by rote, her inflection strangely deliberate, like these are lines that she’s memorised.</p><p>‘I... That sounds... good.’</p><p>He doesn’t know what else to say.</p><p>Here she is, telling him something that can’t possibly be true. <em>Quit?</em> There’s no way, no way his father would ever have allowed it.</p><p>It <em>does</em> sound good, though — a happy little fantasy — and she seems pretty convinced. The fist that’s been gripping at his stomach releases somewhat. Perhaps she’s right. He can get kind of hazy on things sometimes. And it <em>does</em> seem a little strange that anyone would schedule a meeting this late in the day.</p><p>She seems to relax as he does, her breath releasing in a slow exhale.</p><p>‘Come on. Let’s walk.’</p><p>A few minutes pass without either of them speaking — he’s still waiting on her cues, and she seems content to just walk in silence for a while, so for some time the only sounds around them are the rustling of the trees and their footsteps on the beaten trail that runs around the lake.</p><p>‘Song said you’ve had a good day today. They had someone in playing music?’</p><p>He nods. It had hardly been anything to rave about, but it had been pleasant enough.</p><p>‘And Tulok visited you yesterday, didn’t he? You went to watch the game in the park.’</p><p>That makes him smile.</p><p>‘Yeah, we did. Good day. The sun was pretty bright, though, made it difficult to follow the plays sometimes. Nice young man, he is. He...’</p><p>A flicker of something comes to him, a morsel of information that seems as though it should be negligible, but somehow feels unquestionably important.</p><p>‘He’s got a sister, right?’</p><p>It takes him a moment to realise that she’s not walking next to him anymore. He turns, looking back at her where she’s stalled a couple of paces behind him, and for a split second he catches the inexplicable look of dismay on her face. But then she seems to suck it back in, so quickly he wonders if he just imagined it, the lines on her face smoothing out so that she ends up mask-like and unreadable.</p><p>‘He does, yes. Akari. You know that, Zuko.’</p><p><em>Akari</em>. He does feel like he’s heard that name before.</p><p>‘Yeah, yeah, I know that.’</p><p>Can they keep walking? He kind of wants to keep walking, if only for something to do other than stare at her and feel uncertain, but she looks like she’s pretty planted where she stands so he guesses that that’s out of the question.</p><p>Besides, here it comes — another flicker. This one is weaker, more distant. Just the notion of something that’s fluttering out of reach. He stretches for it, feels it brush softly at the tips of his fingers and—</p><p>‘I’m not— Do I know their parents? I kind of feel like I might know their parents.’</p><p>He thought the question was casual enough, but her face is looking paler and paler in the light of the moon. She looks like she might be sick.</p><p>‘Their parents?’</p><p>‘Yeah. Do I know them?’</p><p>‘Tulok and Akari’s parents. You—’ She <em>sounds</em> like she might be sick. ‘How do you think you might know them?’</p><p>He frowns, flipping through memories of people and places, trying to find something that feels like it might fit.</p><p>‘Did I go to school with them? Or... I really don’t know.’</p><p>She’s giving him this look as if there’s something breaking inside her. Part of him wants to get mad, because she’s giving him <em>nothing</em>, here, and if she would just <em>tell</em> him what’s wrong then maybe he could fix it, but—</p><p>He needs to buy a little time. It’ll come to him in a second, and then she’ll stop making that face.</p><p>‘You’ll have to leave it with me for a minute.’</p><p>‘Okay, Zuko. I’ll leave it with you.’</p><p>
  <em>‘He’s so small.’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘He’s amazing. He’s absolutely amazing.’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘I can’t believe you just did that. How the fuck did you just do that? You were— You’re incredible, you’re— Oh my God, look, he’s opening his eyes.’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘He looks like you.’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘No way. He’s perfect, that’s all you.’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Hi, baby. Hi. Zuko, we made this. We made him.’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘He still needs a name.’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Are you sure? If I just keep holding him for the rest of his life then we’d never need to call for him or anything. He wouldn’t need a name.’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘I suspect that the registry office might insist.’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Hmph. Fine, what was on our list, again?’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Okay, we’ve got... Atsuo?’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Mm, no, that’s not right for him.’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Nanouk.’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘No. No, look at him, he’s not a Nanouk. What else?’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Hm. Let’s see... Hey, what about Tulok?’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Tulok? Tulok. I like that.’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Yeah, me too.’</em>
</p><p><em>‘Okay, it’s decided. Welcome to the world, Tulok. Oh, Zuko, look how tiny his </em>fingers <em>are...’</em></p><p>‘Hey, are you okay?’</p><p>‘Of course. Of course, I’m fine.’</p><p>Except she’s demonstrably not.</p><p>‘You look like— Are you crying?’</p><p>‘No, no, just a bit of hayfever. It’s nothing.’</p><p>He’s not at all convinced by that. But then if she wants to lie, who is he to call her out?</p><p>‘You’re going to have to tell me.’</p><p>‘Tell you?’</p><p>‘About the parents. It’s gone, it’s completely—’ He waves a hand in the space next to his head. ‘I can’t find it. I have trouble with that sometimes, you know. Sometimes I lose things.’</p><p>‘Yeah. That’s okay, I do that too. Everyone does that sometimes.’</p><p>She quiets, her eyes travelling slowly over him for a moment, and then her voice is soft when she speaks again.</p><p>‘You’re their father, Zuko. They’re your children; Tulok and Akari, do you remember that?’</p><p>‘Remember that... they’re... Well, yes. Yes, I know that.’</p><p>Does he? Does he know that? Honestly, it sounds strange to him — doesn’t feel like it fits, exactly, that he should have grown children at his age — but she certainly seems to think that that’s the case and he’d quite like to sound as though he understands what’s going on, so agreeing with her feels like the best course of action.</p><p>‘And what about me? Do you know who I am?’</p><p>Her voice is shaking.</p><p>Zuko is feeling more uncomfortable by the second. This has happened before, he’s certain, this thing where people look at him as though something’s terribly wrong but he’s just not quite caught onto it yet. There’s a coldness creeping up the back of his neck, stealing beneath his hairline to run prickly across his scalp, and he feels as if he’s floating, drifting further and further away from his body and the ground and the <em>now</em> with each new question that she puts to him.</p><p>She’s asking if he knows who she is, and that should be an easy answer.</p><p>It should be easy.</p><p>Because either he knows her or he doesn’t, but for some reason his heart’s beating hard and his breath is coming shorter and he feels like he’s panicking.</p><p>He’s not sure. And she so wants him to be sure, he can see that — there’s a desperation in her eyes which is making him feel guilty for even needing to take this long to think about it, and he finds himself unable to stay still under her gaze.</p><p>She’s— He— He doesn’t want to upset her.</p><p>She seems nice enough.</p><p>He doesn’t quite <em>like</em> her, exactly — he’s never really been one of those people who takes to folk all that quickly — but...</p><p>It’s strange. Unsettling, almost. He feels a little like he <em>does</em> knows her, in some bizarre way that his mind can’t make sense of. She feels awfully familiar, like she’s a song he heard a long time ago, her melody a distant strain on his ears that he’s sure he’d recognise if someone would just play it again for him. He can sense the answer resting somewhere in the hollow of his throat, but can’t seem to pull it up to his lips.</p><p>He gives it his best guess.</p><p>‘You look a lot like my girlfriend, you know. Older, of course, but... Do you know her?’</p><p>Her face crumples, absolutely collapses, and all at once a heady, burning ache hits him like a physical blow to the chest. Holy shit. <em>Fucking hell</em>, this is— He can’t bear it. The way that she’s folded in on herself as if she can barely breathe, he can’t—</p><p>‘We should go back to the house,’ she says.</p><p>It doesn’t sound like a suggestion. It sounds like a gasp of pain, like a dying breath.</p><p>No. <em>Fuck</em> no.</p><p>‘I can’t stand here and watch you— I— I can’t go back if you’re upset.’</p><p>And she smiles like her heart’s breaking.</p><p>‘I’m not upset, I’m fine.’</p><p>‘Bullshit. That’s bullshit.’</p><p>A teary laugh punches its way out of her.</p><p>He’s not going to let her lie to him. Something’s really, really wrong and he needs her to know that he’s... he’s here. He’s in it with her. Anything to brush the grief clear from her face, anything to make her smile again, <em>God</em>, he’ll do—</p><p>She reaches out, takes his hand.</p><p>And he swears his heart stops for a second. Just dead-on stops, too preoccupied by the way her fingers fit with his to remember that its purpose is to beat rather than hang on her every move.</p><p>What did he ever do to make this woman look at him so adoringly?</p><p>‘It’s alright, Zuko. I’ll be okay. I will. It’ll be okay.’</p><p>It sounds like she’s trying to convince herself much more than she’s trying reassure him, and the compulsion to help — to comfort her, to calm her — is still rolling deep and primal in him.</p><p>‘Well... Yeah. I think that things are gonna have to get better. They always get better.’</p><p>No, that feels way too hollow, too generic. Fuck, what is he trying to say?</p><p>‘Whatever it is, it’ll work out. You’ll make it work out. You’re good at that.’</p><p>That’s a slight improvement, at least. And as he says it, he realises how right it feels. He still can’t quite get the <em>how</em> or the <em>why</em> to spark, to connect, but sitting hooked in the core of him there’s this, this profound certainty that what he’s saying is true — she’s strong, and she’s brilliant, and she’ll find a way to make things okay.</p><p>‘Am I?’</p><p>Her smile is so familiar.</p><p>‘Yeah. Yeah, better than anyone. Some things... Some things are just inevitable, you know?’</p><p><em>So </em>familiar. Everything about her—</p><p>
  <em>Her eyes are startlingly blue—</em>
</p><p>‘Okay. I believe you.’</p><p>The moonlight is bright against the curves of her face—</p><p>
  <em>Swept down-river—</em>
</p><p>Her hand is in his—</p><p>
  <em>Lost at sea, lost at—</em>
</p><p>Something shifts in him, clicks into place—</p><p>
  <em>Found.</em>
</p><p>She stands clear against the backdrop of the night. And he lifts his hand towards her, runs his thumb along the dip beneath her ear, and for a moment it’s her, of <em>course</em> it’s her, it could never be anything other than <em>her</em>.</p><p>‘Katara.’</p><p>
  <em>‘Come on, help me pick something.’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The blue glow from the television lights the room as he flicks through the channel guide.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘Don’t mind, you choose.’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>They’re stretched out together on the sofa and her head is resting against him, moving as he breathes. He’s pretty certain that she’s drifting off, not even paying attention to the shows that he’s pausing at.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Mmnn, not that.’</em>
</p><p><em>Okay, maybe she’s paying </em>some<em> attention. He taps the top of her head with the remote.</em></p><p>
  <em>‘You just said you didn’t mind.’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A light, sleepy laugh that warms him right the way through.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Yeah, I’m just kidding. Watch it if you want, I’m gonna fall asleep here. Listening to the sounds of you digesting your dinner.’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Oh, okay, and there was me thinking you were going to say something nice about listening to my heart.’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She laughs again, tilting her head backwards until she can meet his gaze.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Well, it’s what I can hear! You’ve gotta scooch down if you want me to listen to your heart.’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And yeah, perhaps he rolls his eyes just a little, but that doesn’t stop him from shuffling his way down the sofa until she’s nestled in against his chest. He needs to fold an arm up under his head to see the TV in this position, and their sofa isn’t quite long enough to accommodate his feet without him cramming them up against the arm, but she’s soft and warm against him and the smell of her hair is like home and perhaps they could just stay like this forever. That would be okay.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘You were right. This is much nicer than your gurgly stomach.’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He snorts out a laugh, dropping a kiss onto the top of her head as his arm tightens around her.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘You fucking weirdo. I love you so much.’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She lets out a quiet hum of contentment, presses her lips to his chest through his shirt, and winds herself into him that bit further.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘I love you too.’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And maybe it isn’t forever, but he’ll take the evening spent with her snoring softly against him, his fingers wandering idly across the back of her neck as the light from the TV flickers in the dark.</em>
</p><p>His hand drops back to his side.</p><p>She slips away again.</p><p><em>He</em> slips away again.</p><p>Yes, he’s pretty certain that it’s the rest of the world that’s staying put, and him that keeps dipping in and out.</p><p>Is he even awake? Is he even here? How is he meant to know whether he’s real or not if he keeps dropping the pieces that make up his life, if his hands won’t stay solid long enough to hold them all? How can a story be told properly without all its parts?</p><p>He’s not cold, but he is shivering. His chest feels too full but he can’t tell what it is that’s pushing against his ribs, pressing on his lungs. His eyes are stinging, and he screws them tight shut so that she doesn’t have to see his tears.</p><p>‘You know, I think I’ve got it all confused.’</p><p>There’s an awful emptiness in him, a space where something important used to live. Now it’s lost, and he can’t even remember what it is.</p><p>‘It’s okay.’ Her voice is so gentle, her touch on his arm so light. ‘You’re doing a good job. It’s not easy.’</p><p>‘It’s not.’</p><p>He sniffs, tilts his head back, opens his eyes, and he’s staring up at the moon.</p><p><em>There</em> — a scrap of something, something that feels safe and sturdy in his hands.</p><p>‘It’s not a man, you know.’</p><p>‘What?’</p><p>‘Everyone thinks that there’s a man in the moon. They’re wrong, though. It’s actually a girl.’</p><p>When he looks back down at her, she’s got this small, bruised smile on her face that’s so achingly beautiful he can’t help but pick it up and press it into the wall of his heart.</p><p>‘I have heard that,’ is all she says.</p><p>For a while, they stand in silence, looking out at the lake and the trees and the moon. Then after some time, she takes his arm and they start to wander back in the direction of the house.</p><p>‘You know, Katara’s coming to see me here this evening. She comes all the time.’</p><p>His companion takes a deep, unsteady breath in, and for a moment he’s scared that he’s upset her again, but then—</p><p>‘That sounds nice.’</p><p><em>Yes. </em>He nods happily. Everything is nice when Katara’s there.</p><p>‘You should stay, you could meet her. I think you’d like her. It’s late, you know, I wonder why she hasn’t arrived yet.’</p><p>‘Don’t worry. I’m sure she’ll be here soon.’</p><p>
  <em>‘Okay, wait, stop,’ she laughs, settling back on the grass. ‘I’m going to tell you a story.’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘A story, huh?’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Yep. Okay, so, everyone thinks that there’s a man in the Moon, right? They’re wrong, though. It’s actually a girl.’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Why are you—’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Shush, listen. It’s a story my mum used to tell me. This one time, I must’ve been about ten or so, she found me lying out in our garden after I’d had a fight with a friend, staring up at the sky — I guess I was a melodramatic child, if you can find it in yourself to believe that — and she told me that there was a girl who lived up there, in the moon. Some celestial being or something. Said that if I looked close enough, I’d be able to see her face, and I’d know that I always had a friend with me, even when she was out of sight during the day.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>There’s silence for a second, and then Katara rolls towards him, watching for his response.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Well? What do you think?’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He reaches out and passes his fingers through the snags in her hair, as if he might be able to gather up the shining threads of light that seem to run through it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I don’t know, seems kind of sad, doesn’t it — a friend who’s always going to be out of reach?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Do you think loving someone from a distance means less than loving them up close?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Hm. No, I guess you’re right.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A smirk sharpens the creases of her face.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘I often am.’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Okay, you know what, Nutaraq—’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She shrieks as he prods at her ribs, her arms flying up to defend herself. But it’s not long before their tussle devolves, predictably, into his hands on her skin beneath her shirt, her breath in his mouth, his weight pressing her down into the grass. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>After a few long minutes he breaks away from her, his eyes skimming over her face, taking her in as he catches his breath.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘So, a girl in the moon, huh? I’ll have to remember that one. You know, to tell when I’m all old and grey.’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Promise?’</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She’s impatient, reaching for him once more.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The moonlight is bright against the curves of her face.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Her eyes are startlingly blue.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>How could he ever forget?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Yeah. Promise.’</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: Deals with the topic of dementia, which may be upsetting for people who have personal experience with the disease.</p><p>Like I said, this was a really hard one to write, particularly because trying to get inside the mind of someone suffering from dementia felt like such an important, sensitive thing. I worked in Old Age Psychiatry when I was a Foundation doctor (essentially an intern), and had a lot of close contact with dementia patients, and the way this thing affects people and steals away parts of their lives and identities is just heartbreaking. I wanted to write something that shows the struggle, but also the full, colourful, loving lives that often go overlooked in people who suffer from dementia. I really, really hope I did it justice.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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